Mindlovemisery Menagerie ~ Wordle #295 ~ #Poetry


A single key hung from the ceiling
The room filled with the colours of a rainbow
The church had been derelict for years
I was transported by a single thought
Suspicion rose like a frozen hand at my back
The mediums could be right 
about the curse on this old sacred place
No time to elaborate now
I shuffle forward the small distance towards the altar
Remembering the key above my head
After making the sign of the cross
I climbed on to the altar, snatching the key
Now all I needed was the keyhole
To find the treasure hidden in Rosslyn Chapel
My search continues, no keyhole as yet
I am not the kind to give up
I will find the book of St, Germaine…


To be continued


©AnitaDawes2022

Eugi’s Weekly Prompt ~ #Poetry

Image by ParallelVision from Pixabay

Dark pines line the sacred water
The dense grey moon waits, life returning
Someone with a large heart must come
Drink from the green water
Learn the old ways
The road is dark, filled with danger
Many hearing the strange stories
Fall by the wayside, returning crestfallen
to their old lives, wishing they had been braver
To find the way through
The smell of pine nuts overpowering
Linger in memory, sounds follow your footsteps
Tiny chattering voices fill the air
You cannot enter, you are not wearing red shoes…

© Anita Dawes 2021

MLMM ~ Wordle #227 ~ #Poetry

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

Oeillade, that sudden glance
across the supermarket aisle
Reminding me to buy some roses.
Disturbed by his blue eyes.
I was reminded of the beady eyed stare of a raven.
On reflection, I feel sure he was trying to be romantic.
I had my hand on a tin of treacle.
For mum, she didn’t ask for much.
I was more than willing
to put her shopping in with mine
I would accumulate the extra points.
Nearing the tills, I could hear a torrent of rain,
Hitting the large glass panels of Tesco’s windows
I had no rainwear whatsoever with me.
For a moment,
I embody the oncoming thunderstorm.
My sudden mood soon passed.
Catching my reflection in the glass
dark mirror, returning the sacred in me…

© Anita Dawes 2021